Wild Wild Witch Book 3: Book 3
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Cherry Redwood
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During Mardi Gras, witch Adela “Addie” Baldovino arrives in New Orleans disguised as a man, hauling a coffin that holds the body of Mateo—the man she refuses to lose. When the casket vanishes from a locked outbuilding, Addie is pulled into the city’s secret magic: elegant salons, dangerous bargains, and the watchful eyes of Marie Laveau and Baron Samedi. To get Mateo back, she’ll have to outwit high society and whatever stole him first.
Mardi Gras
The lights, sounds, and colors quite overwhelmed Addie, who clung to Kitty’s hand like their lives depended on staying together.
This was very likely a reasonable assumption, given their situation.
Addie and Kitty hurried along the street amid a writhing river of people in motley, garish costumes lit by torch and gaslight. False faces leered at them, masked or painted. Skeletons danced with angels.
Confetti whirled through the evening air like ashes after an inferno. Grotesque figures jostled the pair, smelling of sweat, whiskey, and orange peels.
It was quite impossible to think in such a din. Brass bands, shrieks of laughter, and clattering tambourines all clashed and deafened Addie. She was grateful for the trousers—at least her movements were not hindered by skirts.
Her feet crushed oyster shells, and she narrowly avoided horse dung. Trampled flowers and torn bits of finery littered the street.
Had she been less desperate, she might have planned their arrival for a more peaceful time of year, but it was Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and the city’s people celebrated in wild abandon.
The crowd pulsed, a single organism. It pressed closer to Addie, who brought Kitty’s hand in front of her to clasp it with both of her own. The revelers seemed uninterested in the little group, a half dozen men carrying travel trunks and a coffin.
Addie suspected her spell to discourage notice had something to do with that. Those they came near gave them space to pass, perhaps troubled by the presence of the simple pine casket on the shoulders of men following Addie and Kitty.
Kitty’s eyes took in everything, wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open. The eight-year-old girl looked nothing like her normal self—Addie had seen to that. It struck Addie as ironic that she and Kitty were disguised as well, but not at all in the same way as the people of the Crescent City.
The air was thick—fried dough, cheap perfume, river-damp, and the sweet-rot smell of forgotten offerings left at corners. Addie’s stomach churned with nerves and hunger. Kitty was no doubt famished as well, but Addie didn’t dare stop.
They headed for a boarding house in the Faubourg Marigny, just downriver from the French Quarter. Addie thought of the Medusa medallion that hung around her neck. She could feel the circle of metal pressed against the bound curve of her breast.
When they reached the boarding house, she would show it to Mrs. Orsini. She had already done so upon their arrival at the train station, to the men who now carried the casket.
They turned off Royal onto Esplanade Avenue. It was a grand, oak-lined boulevard that acted as a seam between the Carnival chaos and the residential faubourgs. The noise dampened to a rumble. Gaslight gave way to fewer, swaying lanterns.
The air smelled of damp earth, rotting leaves, river mist, faint woodsmoke, and the sweet-rot scent of last season’s magnolia leaves.
They entered the Faubourg Marigny. Narrow Creole cottages with wrought-iron galleries huddled close. In the distance, the sound of the revelry continued, but closer by, Addie heard a single piano from a corner saloon. Figures in shadowed doorways watched them pass.
The night was chilly and damp, the cold air seeping in now that the press of the crowd had cleared.
“Oh, sakes alive,” Kitty said as if she’d just caught her breath. “I ain’t never seen nothing like that before! Folks was wearing masks and feathers! Didya see?”
The disguise hadn’t changed Kitty’s voice much, but Addie’s came out much deeper—she still found it startling, but it had been necessary.
“Yes, I did,” Addie said, giving Kitty’s hand a squeeze.
“We ain’t never had a party like that in Copperwood,” Kitty remarked.
“No,” Addie agreed. “I suppose there aren’t many in Copperwood that celebrate Mardi Gras.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s part of Catholic belief,” Addie said. She explained about Carnival and Lent. “The term ‘Mardi Gras’ means ‘fat Tuesday,’ because it’s the last day the faithful may eat rich foods before Lent, when they must abstain from temptations.”
“Why don’t we have that in Copperwood? It’s a humdinger of a party.”
“I suppose most people in Copperwood haven’t any use for Catholic traditions,” Addie said. “Except maybe the Byrnes. And even they would see such a party as very excessive.”
The people of Copperwood were mostly German immigrants and their descendants, with some English and Irish. Pastor Easton ran the church, and Pastor Easton was in all likelihood a Lutheran, although such things were never discussed.
He was certainly strict enough to be a Lutheran, Addie thought. His wife and sister used to spend their days harassing Vic Walley at the saloon with their temperance pamphlets.
Of course, Pastor Easton’s sister and Vic Walley were both dead now. Killed in the dreadful battle at the Hell Gate in the Northern Woods, along with many other townies.
Addie frowned and pushed aside the sick feeling that rose within her at the thought.
Demons. Nothing good could come of dealing with demons.
Spotting a painted sign on a gate just a few yards ahead, Addie’s pace slowed.
Beyond the wrought-iron gate stood a two-story shotgun-style house, clapboard faded to a soft gray. The simple sign read, “Orsini’s. Rooms.” A single lamp glowed in the front window. The small yard was tidy. Addie’s sharp eyes recognized rosemary and basil. They grew well in the humid climate.
She knew little about the lady who had agreed to put her up. She only got the contact because of Gran’s cousin, Livia Beccari. As much as Addie thought of that woman with resentment, she had to admit she had helped, insofar as she was the one who had given Addie a way to travel to New Orleans. A place to stay.
Not that it hadn’t cost Addie. She had sent the payment in advance, in fact. She only hoped that Mrs. Orsini would honor the agreement and acknowledge that the payment was received. If the lady refused to house Addie and Kitty, Addie did not know where they could go.
Quailing at the thought, Addie hesitated at the gate.
Kitty, trusting without question in Addie’s abilities, gave a great yawn.
Squaring her shoulders, Addie pushed open the gate and marched up to the front door. She rapped on it smartly with her left hand, still holding Kitty’s hand in her right.
With a whine, the door opened, revealing a stout, white-haired woman in black.
Beyond her, Addie glimpsed a parlor. It looked clean and sparse: a worn rug, a stiff sofa, a lithograph of the Virgin Mary. The dominant smell was simmering tomatoes, garlic, and strong coffee—fragrances of home that startled Addie and tightened her throat. She hadn’t smelled anything like it since leaving Brooklyn.
For an instant, the longing to turn and run, pulling Kitty with her, all the way back to Papa and Mama, rushed through her.
Addie licked her lips, swallowed, and forced a smile. She pulled the medallion from within her linen shirt and bound chest.
Mrs. Orsini peered at it, then gave a nod, standing aside. When she spotted the casket, however, she spoke. “Take that to the garçonnière,” she said to the men. “In the back. I left it unlocked.” She had an Italian accent.
She turned her dark eyes on Addie, who had opened her mouth to protest.
“Much colder. Better. The lock is strong.”
Addie didn’t like Mateo being in a separate building. Not a bit. But arguing with Mrs. Orsini would lead nowhere good. Addie was not going to explain about the preservation spell. She would check the lock later and perhaps give it some magical reinforcement.
“Very well,” she said.
Kitty pulled her into the parlor, her eyes wide as she took in the space.
“Are you hungry?” the lady asked.
“Golly, yes, ma’am,” Kitty exclaimed. “Hungry enough to eat the horns off a buffalo!”
Addie stiffened at Kitty’s outburst, but she caught sight of a very brief quirk in Mrs. Orsini’s lips. The lady’s eyes brightened as well. “I have dinner for you and your father, ragazzino.” This meant “little boy” in Italian, evidence of the effectiveness of Kitty’s disguise. “Come with me.”
The lady took them into the kitchen. The smells of cooking intensified, as did the pang of homesickness in Addie’s heart. Before long she and Kitty took straw-seated chairs at the table, which was covered in a clean, white tablecloth.
Mrs. Orsini set bowls down before them, then spooned a red-tinted stew into the bowls. Kitty dug in without waiting.
“Thank you, Signora,” Addie said.
Mrs. Orsini tutted and gave her a nod. She peered at Addie with an evaluating look. “Why have you come to New Orleans, Signor Lagorio?”
Addie had anticipated the question and had a lie prepared.
“I’m escorting the body of my older brother, Father Matteo Lagorio,” Addie said.
“Father?” Mrs. Orsini echoed in surprise.
Addie lowered her eyes. “He was a Franciscan monk. Died of a fever on a ship bound for the missions,” she said with real sadness. “His final, sworn request was to be buried in the Lagorio family tomb in New Orleans.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Orsini said, evidently not expecting this.
“We shall have to stay for some time,” Addie added. “The legal and ecclesiastical formalities must be completed, you understand.”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Orsini said, some of her earlier reserve melting away.
“This is my son, Cleto,” Addie said, looking at Kitty, who shoveled stew into her mouth. “He is all I have left.”
Mrs. Orsini tutted again and brought out a loaf of bread, which she hurriedly cut into large pieces, placing one in front of Kitty and then Addie. Kitty gave her a wide grin of appreciation and mumbled a thank you through a mouthful of food.
“You have our sincere gratitude, Signora,” Addie said, and began to eat.
She would need her strength.
It would not be easy to raise Mateo from the dead, but at least now, she was in the right place to do it.
